Oh, how sweet the light of day, And how wonderful to live in the sunshine! Even if you live a long time, don’t take a single day for granted. Take delight in each light-filled hour, Remembering that there will also be many dark days And that most of what comes your way is smoke. [Ecclesiastes 11:7-8 (MSG)]
In a “Family Circus” cartoon, written by Bil and Jeff Keane, Dolly wakes up and says, “I hope today is one of those days I never wanna forget.” Amen to that, girl! Isn’t that what we all hope for every day? What will it take for Dolly to have one of those days? What will it take for us to have a day we never want to forget?
With far more days behind me than are ahead, I want every day to be worth remembering. Nevertheless, some days are better than others and get pulled out of the memory file more often. Oddly, they aren’t the red-letter days—the weddings, graduations, birthdays, performances or holidays. Maybe it’s the unrealistic expectations or busyness that often accompany special occasions, but we rarely enjoy them as much as we thought we would. The kind of days about which Dolly is speaking, the days we never want to forget, usually come when we least expect them.
I had one such day last week as the family gathered together in California. It wasn’t, however, the special anniversary dinner party hosted by our children when everyone was dressed up and on good behavior. It came later in the week when our children and grands frolicked in the pool and had a water fight. Armed with water blasters, the youngsters squealed with delight as they soaked their parents and were drenched in return. My eyes leaked joyfully as I watched my loved ones laugh and play; it was raucous, rowdy, chaotic and absolutely wonderful. That was “one of those days” and it has been tucked within easy reach in my memory file. Then again, seeing two goldfinches perched on my windowsill first thing this morning was memory worthy, as well. In the end, it’s really not the events that make the day; it’s our attitude toward them!
As for those days we’d rather not remember—I confess to having had days, weeks and even a few months I’d rather not remember. While not exactly forgotten, by the grace of God, those memories have lost their sting and hurt no longer. They’re simply “once was enough” experiences that helped make me who I am. Placed in the back of my memory file, they’re retrieved only when absolutely necessary. Until then, I’ll enjoy today and, with God’s love and guidance, make it one of those days I’ll never want to forget.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the gift of this day—guide us in our walk so that we make it a day truly worth remembering.
After struggling with the writing of a devotion, it was finally finished. Thankful, I listed its completion in my gratitude journal that night. The next morning, I discovered it was lost—vanished into thin air and nowhere to be found (and believe me, I tried)! Looking back, I probably cut the devotion from my “Work On” file but got distracted and never pasted it into my “To Post” file. Unfortunately, by the time I discovered my error, both files had been saved in versions without the words over which I’d labored so long. When it became clear that those paragraphs truly had vanished into the black hole of my computer, I was annoyed with myself and upset, upset enough to want that thanks entry crossed out in my gratitude journal!
The book of Daniel was written during the Babylonian captivity. Nebuchadnezzar had assaulted Judah, destroyed Jerusalem and the temple and exiled the people of Judah to Babylon. Jeremiah had prophesized that Jerusalem’s desolation would last seventy years and Daniel realized that their time of exile was nearly complete. After fasting, donning sackcloth, and covering himself with ashes, Daniel passionately prayed and pled with God to return His people to their land.
“A Christian doesn’t die,” declared the pastor, which may have been news to some of those attending the Celebration of Life. “He just moves!” the minister added as an explanation. Indeed, we are just temporary residents here on earth. Death for a Christian is simply a relocation and, unlike most moves we’ve made, it doesn’t require a purging of the items in the attic, garage sales, packing up boxes, or wrangling friends into helping us carry the heavy stuff! This is one transfer that neither requires moving vans nor mail forwarding.
For the last several years, we’ve frequently driven by a house we called the “House of Lost Dreams.” Apparently forsaken by both bank and borrower, we watched as tarps blew off windows, roof tiles grew black with mold, and ivy and kudzu grew on the walls. Eventually, plants nearly obscured the deteriorating house from view as Mother Nature took back ownership of the land.
